


Bark and Howl

by Lempo Soi (Lemposoi)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Comic), Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: 1000-5000 Words, Animal Play, Animal Transformation, Animals, Community: kink_bingo, Crossover, Kink, M/M, Werewolf, one-night stand, over 1000 words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-05
Updated: 2010-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-05 20:18:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemposoi/pseuds/Lempo%20Soi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oz's journey hits a bump on the way to Tibet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bark and Howl

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://sunnydawards.dragonydreams.com/codes.html)
> 
> Additional warnings: bestiality of sorts, POSSIBLE underage (I'm not entirely clear if Oz was 18 when he quit Sunnydale the first time), unbeta'd (C&amp;C would not be sniffed at!), Magical Healing Cock cliche.  
> Additional pairings discussed/hinted at/very briefly featured: Oz/Willow, Oz/Devon, Sirius/Remus, Oz/Bayarmaa.
> 
> Written for the Kink-Bingo January ´10 crossover mini challenge.

Everything is dark here. Oz blinks. His muscles are aching and, god, that dead rat taste in his mouth is probably not due to drink.

He can smell alcohol here, though - stale spilled drink and the mouth of someone who drank what he didn't spill.

He's warm. This's not how it usually goes. He sits up and finds a blanket falling off him. He's lying on something that is, if not soft, not entirely like rock either. A hard mattress?

There are specks of orange light in the darkness – embers. Oz rubs his eyes, tries to sniff out his surroundings. There's the scent of human and animal here. He can feel a touch of a breeze at the back of his neck.

"Come around, have you?"

There's the sound of a match being struck, then light as a gas lamp is lit. The first thing it illuminates is the figure of a man wrapped in a grey blanket, crouching over the lamp, long black hair hanging unkempt around his head. His face is drawn and closed, brow proud, and there's a touch of the devil in his face. As the light grows brighter, Oz can make out where they are – some kind of a cavern with a leather flap drawn over the exit to keep out the wind and - to keep the light in?

Where the hell has he ended up in?

Oz curls in upon himself, drawing the blanket close against his naked body.

"No need to be afraid, lad," says the man. "I'm not going to eat you up, which is not what you could say to this here hart." He points to a stripped leg still propped up on top of the glowing embers.

"Is that all I killed?" Oz asks.

"As far as I know. What's that accent? American?"

Oz nods, then in deference to the dark, adds, "Yes. Where am I?"

"Safe place. Don't worry. I know a thing or two about werewolves."

-

Britain was meant to be only a stop-over on the way to continental Europe. As things turned out, Oz ran out of money almost as soon as he stepped out of Stansted. It was an expensive country.

He spent what he had left on a room for a week and went out looking for work. When there wasn't any to be had and the full moon kept creeping closer, he followed his nose into a demon bar. Monsters help each other, sometimes. Oz had decided not to be a monster, but they didn't have to know that, and sometimes it was a choice between being a little bit bad and a lot bad. Letting the wolf run unchained on the streets of London would be a lot bad. Really a lot.

Turned out the demon scene in Europe wasn't exactly like it was back in America.

-

"I got in over my head, I guess," Oz tells Sirius Black while the hot liquid runs through his body, the heat bringing back sensation, unwinding his tension. He'd never appreciated a cup of tea more. "First full moon, they chained me up just like I asked and gave me blankets and food when I woke up. All I had to do was run some daytime errands for the night-walkers. I didn't ask any questions because I still needed money to cross the channel. First night of the next full moon, I wake up somewhere I've never seen before." He pulls the blanket closer around his shoulders. "There was a lot of blood."

-

His body remembered immense pain, even though he had no recollection of what had caused it. The cuts and burns on his body weren't enough to account for the trauma that had his muscles still convulsing even after the transformation. He was naked in a street full of dead people, some in street clothes, others in black robes, none of them with horns or any other sign that he could have slapped a mental 'okay to kill' sign on them, if he wasn't a monster himself.

He picked himself up with a choked howl. Then, sense returning, he stripped a robe off a corpse, wrapped himself up in it and fled down the street.

He kept running, taking an underground out as far as he could, then another train, chugging on through the night. When the woman in the uniform - conductor or police officer, he couldn't tell - approached him at a station he dashed again, jumped the gates and ran on through the suburban housing area, on and on, until he reached the trees.

-  
"There's a war going on," Sirius tells him in a quiet voice. "You were used by the other side. Mind you, if you try to get protection from my side, most would just throw you out on your arse again. More?" He holds the kettle up to Oz.

"Thanks." The tea is black and strong, not quite coffee, but still it goes a good way towards washing the taste of uncooked hart from his mouth. "So why aren't I out on my ass?"

"Like I said, I know werewolves. You're not all blood-mad when the moon's out." Oz sees him feel about in the dark behind him and lift out a glinting black powder gun, monstrous and beautiful. "I was prepared, in case you were."

"Great," Oz says and pulls up his knees to his chin. "Well, you might as well do it, unless you've got a nice basement somewhere with chains welded in the wall. I've got no place to go." He rubs his eyes. He's still bone-tired, bone-crushed. It has been a hard three nights.

"Don't be like that, pup," Sirius says. "You and I are in the same soup - stuck in no-man's land when both sides want our hides."

"What's your damage, then?" Oz asks.

"Escaped a prison. A special prison. The crime was murder and the Dark Arts." Sirius grins, and suddenly Oz can see it, as if a book had fallen open before him. Maybe it's magic, some echo of wolf-intuition or some demonic link between them that he has yet to discover, but Sirius' nature is plain in his face, there in the half-light of the failing gas lamp - pain and exhaustion honed through many bitter years, and beyond that, a willfulness, hatred poured into careful channels.

"Are you trying to impress me?" Oz is too tired for this now. "You're a killer, I'm a killer. If you were going to kill me, you would have done it already. Might just make things easier for me, anyway." Sleep is upon him again, and Oz curls up with his blanket, done with both questions and answers for now.

The shape of a man in grey hovers above him as he sleeps, fingers caressing an antique gun.

-

When Oz wakes up next he's alone in the cavern and the sun filtering through the flap is drawing sharp shadows of pebbles and cracks on the floor.

The cavern is barely high enough to stand in, though it seems to go on down into the depths of the earth at the back of the little enclosure they're camped at. There is the mattress, blankets, the fireplace and the lamp, a pile of books and a quill, a pair of bottles and a crate. It looks like the place has been lived in for at least a week, but Oz can't imagine it would be this sparse if it had been longer - let alone, had it been winter.

Oz breathes in the fresh sharp air. He's hungry, so he crawls on all fours to the fireplace and lifts up the cooked hart's leg, tearing into it with his teeth. It's tasteless and dry by now, but he's not picky. After a few bites, he's thirsty, too, so he crawls to the flap and pulls it aside.

The cavern is high up on a hillside. The scenery stretches out below him, wind-torn vegetation clinging to rock and sand, the land sliding into the forest below. There's a convenient stretch of river not far from the foot of the hill. And then, as far as the eye can see, nothing but forest.

Oz crawls out and stands up, stretching naked in the morning sun, joints popping into place. He starts off down the hillside carefully, bare crusty feet slipping, stung by pebbles and hardy growth.

An interminable time later Oz splashes into the flowing river. Cold as it is, he sinks himself into it, washing blood and dirt off his hair, off his arms. Then he drinks.

He starts back up, shivering, hoping he still knows how to start a fire, and wondering where Sirius is.

-

It's almost nightfall, and Sirius is still not back. Oz sits outside the cave, warmed enough now by the fire inside not to mind the wind on his bare neck, watching the sun sink towards the horizon. He is beginning to consider the necessity of clothes. He doesn't even know which way to set off to in search of clothes-lines.

A black shape appears at the foot of the hill, lopes up towards him. Oz stands up, panic starting at the back of his neck. He swallows it down and dives into the cave, feeling for Sirius' gun. He's still searching, hand patting at the cave floor, when the big black dog appears in the doorway and pads in as if it owned the place.

Oz settles for the stick used to tend the fire, holding it before him. Why the hell isn't the dog afraid of the fire?

The thought it would be friendly never enters into Oz's mind. The thing is huge and black; clearly a dog, but one with the certain gait of a pack leader. Not a tame dog.

As he watches, the dog sits on its haunches. Air shimmers, changes, and almost as soon as Oz recognizes magic, Sirius Black sits in its place. "What were you going to do, throw me a stick?" He snorts.

"You're still dressed," Oz blurts. "And it's not full moon..."

"It's just magic," Sirius answers, taking the stick from Oz and putting it to its proper use, stoking the branches set in the fire. "I don't suppose you collected any more to replace these? Bloody things are wet first thing in the morning."

"Sorry," Oz says.

"You will be in the morning. Never mind." Sirius shrugs a blanket onto his shoulders, making him look even more like a heap of shaggy darkness rather than a man. "Starting to be time you should be moving on, pup. Where are you headed, anyway?"

"Tibet."

"No kidding?"

"I want to get rid of the wolf."

"They do that sort of thing in Tibet?"

"Rumour has it."

"Well, good luck with that. In the morning I'll get you some clothes and get you to Hogsmeade. After that you're on your own."

"There's a town out here?"

"Behind the hill, not too far. Of course, they're like to ask questions. More questions than you'll like. And they have ways of detecting werewolves."

"What kind of town is this?" asks Oz, frowning.

"A magic town, of course. You really don't know where you are?"

"I took a lot of trains. So, there are magic towns in England? Like, towns on top of Hellmouths where everything's a little weird?"

"You really are fresh out of the woods, aren't you?"

Oz shrugs. "Nobody handed me a pamphlet when I got bitten."

"First of all, you're in Scotland now. And to answer your question, no, no Hellmouths. That'd be a stupid place to build a town, anyway."

"That's what I always thought, actually."

"Don't worry. We'll get you sorted out. There are a couple of things around these woods even more dangerous than me and a werewolf."

"You're kidding me," Oz says with a faint smile. "There's something worse out there than a naked guy and a bum?"

Sirius barks a laugh. "You know you're free to run back off to the forest on your own too, of course."

"I'm sorry." Oz sighs. "Thank you."

Sirius looks at him through slitted eyes. "What makes you think I won't just eat you in the night? Roast you up on my spit."

Oz isn't sure why, but he is sure Sirius wouldn't. "I can tell you're kind."

The eyes narrow further. "My kind?"

"No - that you are kind. These days. Mostly."

Sirius doesn't answer. He keeps glaring, still and silent, until something seems to break, and he breathes out a loud puff of air. "You're well enough to sleep on the blankets tonight, pup. It's my bloody mattress, after all."

-

When Oz wakes next, somewhere in the dark preceding dawn, he's wrapped up in the thin blankets and against his side is the rising and falling chest of a huge, warm dog. The mattress lies empty next to them. He thinks of shifting, of edging away from the claws and the fangs, but decides against it even as sleep begins to creep back. Sirius is warm, after all, and it's been a while since Oz was touched with any semblance of kindness.

Tomorrow he'll be alone among strangers again.

-

Sirius, it turns out, wears three pairs of shirts and simple bottoms one on top of another. Oz wraps one layer of sweat-smelling, grey pajamas on his body and can immediately tell why it's necessary. The cloth is threadbare and there are rips and holes in it, old stains and new stains. Still, it's better than walking into town with his dick swinging in the breeze, he supposes.

"I can't go out there except as the dog," Sirius says in a voice that implies he doesn't care to explain that any further, so Oz just nods. He thinks of thanking the man again, but figures Sirius has already heard all he's going to hear about it.

"Stick close to me, pup," Sirius says. "You don't want to get lost. Not now and not here."

"Because of the big bad whatevers?"

"They're called Dementors, and you better hope that's all you'll learn about them. If I bark, come to me at once, and if I run, run with me. No hesitation and no looking back."

Oz nods numbly.

-

He is running through the forest in feet wrapped in rags. He knows he will not get away.

There is no escaping the wolf. There is no escaping the poison in his blood. It will continue until he is dead, and by that time there'll be someone else, many others, to carry on the wolf. Why not just stop and lie down now?

So he stops, and turns around. Somewhere a dog is barking.

It's bigger than he thought, and there's only one where he thought he'd sensed a multitude, a pack of black things with jaws at his heel. He bends his head back as it hovers over him.

He just wants this feeling to stop.

A sharp red pain flashes across his back, and he yowls. There's another bark and a growl, deep and low and menacing, and something in him snaps. The wolf pushes against his skin, his jaw aches and gapes.

But it's not full--

-

Oz wakes up with a tickle in his nose. The sneeze sends dust flying up around him. His back stings. He reaches a hand around himself and it comes back sticky and red.

Slowly, he lifts himself up on his arms. It's been too damn long since he didn't hurt or ache of freeze. At least Tibet would have a warm season. Right?

The bed is an old-fashioned, once-grand four-poster. Wind whistles and whines through the room, which is as ramshackle as the bed – everything covered in a fine dust.

"What...?" he asks no-one in particular.

"It's a little closer to the town than I like," Sirius Black's voice answers.

Oz looks over his shoulder, winces, and then turns on his side more carefully. The man is sitting in a rocking chair by the window, ripping a piece of grey fabric. Now that Oz thinks of it, he'd heard the sound of ripping cloth in his sleep. "Did you bite my back?" Oz asks.

"Just scratched it. That Dementor would have done much worse. I had to bring up the wolf in you." Sirius stands up, and now Oz can see what he's made of his second shirt – a bandage. "Hold still."

Oz winces only a little as Sirius wraps the cloth around his chest. "You didn't do me any favours, either," Sirius says as he works. "I had to shift to human form to hold you still once you turned. They nearly got me, too."

"What were those things?" Oz whispers. He can still feel the breath of despair on his face. He gulps, but the bile keeps rising to his mouth.

"They used to be my jailors." Sirius' hand shakes slightly.

Oz buries lies his head on the pillow. "Aw man."

"You have to be getting out of here, pup," Sirius says as he ties the last knot in the bandage. "It's not far now. I'll show you the way, but you have to go before nightfall."

"I can't," says Oz. He's sick and hurt and tired. "What's the point? I'm a monster. Let them take me. Who am I kidding anyway, about Tibet?" He lets go a breath, and it feels almost good. Almost warm. Letting go.

He thinks about Willow Rosenberg, and smiles at the memory. "Sorry," he says. Mostly to her.

Sirius is quiet for a moment. "I would smack you around some more, but you're already hurt."

Oz feels a touch of hand on his hair, gentle, petting. He shrugs it away. "What are you doing?"

"You need to get your life force running again," Sirius says impatiently. "You're too hurt to fight and I haven't got any chocolate. Sex is an option."

"You've got to be kidding me." Oz almost laughs.

Sirius grins. "No, I'm fucking serious. How about you?"

"Please," Oz whispers. "I'm trying to lie down and die with some dignity. No puns."

"Come on, pup," Sirius says and sits down on the bed beside him, leans down to kiss his ear. "Tails up."

"That's even worse."

Sirius moves his mouth down along Oz's ear, his hand down his side and up his shirt. "Push me away, then," he says. "I'll go. Just a little shove to show you mean it." His fingers move across Oz's chest and up to his nipple, playng, teasing, and Oz's breath is caught in his throat.

It's like a dash of red in a world of grey. Turns out it's just enough to make him want more, after all. Just a little more pain. Just a little more life. "Okay," Oz says and turns around.

Sirius smells hardly any better now than he did before, but animal smells haven't bothered Oz since before he was bitten. He draws the man down for a kiss, feeling his stubble against his cheek, reminding him of drunken nights with Devon. It already seems like a lifetime ago. Sirius's tongue moves rather too hungrily to be called skilled, but it is drawing more red in Oz's world and he really, really doesn't mind.

"Would you call this cheating?" Oz asks when Sirius moves his mouth down along his neck, nibbling, sucking.

"Whatever answer you're happy with," Sirius grunts. "It's necessary. Okay? For... for me as well."

They used to be his jailors. Oz wonders what Sirius had to do to get him away like this, but all he says is "Okay," as he lets doubt sink down into the mattress even as he bends back against it, his hands in Sirius's matted hair, pulling him closer. Their hips are lodged tightly together now, and with just threadbare cloth between them there's no mistaking the bulge of Sirius' sex. It shivers against Oz's, twitching to move closer. Sirius breath is hot against Oz's. There's a tingling like sensation returning to sleeping limbs all over Oz's body.

They make out, tongues slipping in and out of each other's mouths, until Sirius picks Oz up bodily and flips him around, landing him on all fours in front of him. Oz does not complain. He knows the alpha mounts the beta, and it's what he wants, to be stoked and petted and fucked and cared for. "Sirius," he breathes as his trousers are drawn down to his knees. "Wait."

Oz slips two gingers in his mouth, lashing them with his tongue, and then reaches under himself to slip them in his ass. First one tip, then the other. He fucks himself open, thrilling in the feel of opening before Sirius, until his hand is pushed away. He can hear Sirius ragged breathing behind him, and then the touch of a furry body against his.

"Oh my god," says Oz as the wolf rolls around inside his skin, not coming out, just... awake and splashing red all over his vision.

Sirius sets his paws on Oz's shoulders, claws resting calm against his tender skin, his cock lain across Oz's buttocks. Oz reaches back and guides him in. There's a small huff of breath, almost a bark, and the dog's head is lain across his shoulder, long tongue lolling, it's furry body flat against his back. The invasion spreads him open, deep, pushing in and then out again, and in, pumping red into him, rocking him. Oz grabs hold of the headboard and pushes back, holding his own against the dog on top of him.

Until the invasion grows wider.

Impossibly, Sirius is larger at every thrust until it seems like Oz is filled to the brim and beyond. He cries out, cries for more, no more, please, no, more. He reaches down and pulls at his cock, so close, but Sirius is still fucking him. It goes on. It goes on, beyond Oz's orgasm, until he's spent and aching and lying in a heap at the bottom of the bed.

The dog grunts, moves away. Turns around. They are locked together, Oz still filled to the breaking point, and then there it is – a wave of warm liquid splashing deep inside him, marking him, owning him. Oz groans against the pillow, his human and wolf sides singing together with life.

He sags against the bed, and it's then that he can feel the fur shift against his buttocks and turn back into slick, sweaty human skin.

_Oh my god_, he thinks again when Sirius tucks himself up against his back, spooning. Then he says it.

"Thanks," says Sirius, and Oz can feel the grin against his shoulder.

"You could've given me some warning."

"Would've spoiled the surprise, wouldn't it?"

"You must lose a lot of boyfriends that way."

"None of the werewolf ones. I told you I know a thing or two about your sort. Don't tell me that didn't get your blood pumping?"

Oz's veins were still coursing with bristling, burning energy. He was awake like he'd never been before – off-stage, anyway. "Can't lie," he said. "Question, though."

"Hm?"

"How exactly do you expect me to walk into town after that?"

Sirius laughed. It was something between a cackle and a chortle. "On your own two feet, pup."

-

Oz catches an off-season train from Hogsmeade to London, the only place it'll go, hiding in the bathrooms for most of the trip because he still hasn't got any money to pay for a ticket. He steals a suitcase somewhere along the way and starts off into the world wearing an ill-fitting tweed suit with a pocket watch he has to abandon half-way because it keeps cursing him for a thief. He gets the hell out of London and on to Portsmouth as soon as he can. There's always work in harbor towns, right?

  
It's a start.

"England was a trip," he tells Bayarmaa, years later, when she asks him about it. "But it had nothing on Scotland."


End file.
